Part 18 (1/2)

”You will if you love me.”

”That is so not fair,” she grumbled.

”I know. Believe me, I know.” I kissed her again. ”Ready?”

She shook her head but took my arm, and we headed back. Light snow was starting to fall, dusting the winds.h.i.+elds of the parked cars; it made the brightly lighted church look more inviting. We pa.s.sed the floodlighted Hawthorne United Methodist Church sign, built close to the ground per the zoning ordinances in that part of town, and as we did, Debra and her current family crossed our path like so many black cats.

Bad luck, all right. I'd meant to go back to the restaurant later to pay for lunch and/or damages, but Ca.s.sie had other ideas about how to spend the afternoon. So I'd never...

”Why, Devlin Kerry,” Debra said, with simulated pleasure. ”I haven't seen you for a couple of years at least. How are you?”

A couple of years? I frowned. ”Fine. You? Listen, about your restaurant...”

Her smile grew larger and phonier. ”Oh, you've heard about it? Yes, I'm really enjoying it. It's doing really well. Do stop in while you're in town, won't you? I'll make sure you get free dessert.”

Ca.s.sie and I glanced at each other warily. We'd had dessert at her restaurant just a few hours ago, and neither of us was likely to forget it as long as we lived.

”Maybe we will,” I told Debra.

Her charity work complete, Debra turned sharply to go inside. She hadn't bothered to introduce her family to me or herself to Ca.s.sie, but somehow I felt no loss.

Ca.s.sie stared after her. ”That was strange. Is she loony?”

”Probably.” Privately, I suspected Vanessa was up to something, but it wasn't the time to discuss her. ”C'mon. It's cold out here.”

All the good pews in the back were full, so we had to sit far up front. That meant going down the center aisle in front of everyone, which meant more being recognized and more getting hugged. I hated it. We'd had a hard time even getting past the greeters, and although Ca.s.sie was trying hard not to laugh, she was having a fabulous time. I'd almost had to clock her when Mrs. Rose, who was pa.s.sing out the candles, started talking about how well behaved I'd been in her Sunday-school cla.s.s.

”Selective memory,” I insisted when we finally got away. ”My friends and I used to throw spit wads in church.”

She just smiled.

”How come you didn't have to go through this at Thanksgiving?”

”I'm not stupid, Devvy. I wasn't about to introduce you to any more people than I had to.”

Smart. She was smart, all right. I was doomed but good.

We pa.s.sed another pew, and I felt the temperature drop sharply, as it does in the most haunted part of the house. Mom and Aunt Kitty were sitting there, along with Dad, Connor and Jen, both of them looking particularly unappeasable.

”Evening. What happened to Ryan and Amy?” I asked.

”They'll be along,” Mom said curtly. Her glance swept up and down us both, clearly disapproving of our nice wool trousers.

”We didn't pack prom dresses,” I explained. ”Besides, it's 15 degrees out. Too cold for panty hose.”

She didn't respond, except to cross her panty-hosed legs ostentatiously. Well, if she wanted to catch pneumonia, that was her business.

”You can sit here,” Aunt Kitty said grudgingly. ”There's probably room if we all move down.”

With maximum effort, I smiled. ”Wouldn't think of putting you to any trouble.” Then I pulled Ca.s.sie down the aisle to an empty pew, Mom and Aunt Kitty glaring holes in the back of my head all the way.

”What do we do with these things?” Ca.s.sie asked, gesturing with her candle.

”This.” I stuck mine into one of the holes in the pew back in front of us. They were, I dimly remembered, for the little cups of grape juice Methodists got at communion, but they were just candle-holders to me now. She did the same. No sooner had we finished getting settled than Ryan and Amy shoved in.

”You're late,” I said, feeling virtuous.

Ryan shrugged. ”We were watching a movie. You going to move down and let us in, or what?”

”Depends. What movie?”

”Santa Claus Conquers the Martians.”

”Move,” I told Ca.s.sie.

We scooted down to give them room. Ryan climbed over both of us to sit on my right, and Amy sat on Ca.s.sie's left.

”It's probably not safe to let them sit together,” Amy told her, ”but it'll probably be more fun in the long run.”

Ca.s.sie laughed. ”I've known Devvy for six years. It's really hard to scare me.”

”Happy to try,” Ryan offered.

I was about to have back at him when the choir started filing in. I knew most of the members in one way or another -- a friend's father, a local pharmacist, my junior-high geography teacher -- and was careful to smile. But the friend's father saw Ryan and me sitting together, and a dark look crossed his face.

”I bet he's remembering the Jesus Christmas,” Ryan whispered in the sudden hush.

That almost caused me to lose it. A few years ago, for reasons known only to them, Connor and Ryan had started telling me Jesus jokes during the service, and they got so outrageous that I cracked up several times.

Of course, sitting next to either of my brothers at this service was never a good idea. If ”We Three Kings” was on the program, which it usually was, they always sang the version about the rubber cigar. Then we'd all start doing sotto-voce commentary on the sermon, and at least one of us would have to leave the sanctuary to laugh.

This year, though, Ca.s.sie was with me. I wasn't going to subject her to showtime with the Kerry kids in the middle of church. Even though she might never have to come back to this town, I would, and I wasn't going to have people thinking badly of her for something that wasn't her fault. Let them think whatever they wanted about me, but not...

Something small, hard, and wet hit me in the back of the head. Scowling, I turned around. Connor tried to look innocent, pretending to be fascinated by the poinsettia arrangement on the altar, but I wasn't fooled for a second. If he was going to start throwing spit wads, I was eventually going to revert and start throwing them back.

Closing my eyes, I repented most of my life to date. Somehow, I hadn't realized that bringing Ca.s.sie to this church would mean giving her a tour of my childhood -- the moral equivalent of touring a swamp in a gla.s.s-bottom boat. By seventh grade, my friends and I were sneaking out during the sermons to steal c.o.kes out of the c.o.ke machine in the bas.e.m.e.nt. We'd started filling out the guest books with fict.i.tious names. We'd even called the church office a few times to ask if their refrigerator was running. And on top of all that, I had these brothers to deal with. No wonder I had a demon.

Ca.s.sie nudged me. ”What's wrong?”

Another spit wad whizzed through my hair; I got a hand up just in time to catch it. For answer, I showed it to her.